


pulsing stars in a creased night sky

by lotts (LottieAnna)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Angst, Destiny, Dogs, Dreams, M/M, Magic, Pining, Podfic Available, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-25 09:33:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14376003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LottieAnna/pseuds/lotts
Summary: “He’s, uh— he’s a hockey player.” Auston bites his lip. “Toronto kid. He’s… happy, most of the time. Or— he smiles a lot.” He takes a deep breath. “He was supposed to play here. With us.”“But he doesn’t,” Willy says.Auston shakes his head.“Well, where is he?” Willy asks.“I don’t know,” Auston says, his voice kind of quiet. “Not here, I guess.”(Or: the universe can bend and twist and tear all it wants, but Mitch Marner will always find his way back to Toronto.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> IF YOU FOUND THIS THROUGH GOOGLING, KNOW ANYONE MENTIONED IN THIS STORY PERSONALLY, OR ARE MENTIONED YOURSELF: please, please click away. This is a work of fiction and nothing written in this story is true. Any accurate information used in this story is publicly available information about public figures, the rest is made up, 100%.
> 
>  **warnings: potentially triggering discussion of memories being lost and rediscovered, lots of uneasy feelings centered around time travel/universe-bending magic.**
> 
> Ah too many thanks to count; deja, ciara, dell, ria, ali, ash, and rachel all read this before it was posted (i really hope i didn't forget anyone). special shout out to grammar queen rachel, and to hailey for helping me fine-tune the warning, and the HUGEST of thanks to dell, who whipped this story into shape and really helped turn it into a story i'm proud of/excited about.
> 
> I started this January 3rd, and the original premise was, "Mitch would be a super charming dog." 
> 
> ... it's come a long way since then, to say the least.

Auston’s first practice with the Leafs is pretty uneventful. 

He meets the guys he hasn’t already met, which isn’t many, and it’s weird to come in the middle of training camp, but whatever. The guys all seem great, and they’re definitely excited to have him here, and afterwards, Mo gives him a ride home. It’s all pretty standard, more or less what Auston had expected.

…… 

After Auston’s second practice with the Leafs, he wanders over to a shelter and adopts a dog. 

He’s not really sure why he does it. His family has a dog, sure, but he never pictured himself as the kind of person who would have a dog that’s just his, and he has no clue if he’s even ready for the responsibility, but it feels like the right choice, especially when he walks over to a cage and sees a Husky with striking blue eyes. 

“Who’s this guy?” Auston asks the woman who’s helping him, barely looking up at her as he crouches down. The dog is staring at him, calm, and when Auston offers his hand, the dog sniffs it, then licks at his knuckle, which makes Auston smile. 

“This is Winston,” she says. “He’s been with us for a few weeks, and we think he’s about three. Really easy to get along with, but kind of shy around visitors. Tends to hang back when people come through.” 

The dog lies down on his stomach, his nose poking through the cage. “So he’s not usually like this?” Auston asks. 

“Not that I’ve seen,” the woman says. “I think he likes you.” 

Auston smiles. “I like him too.” He reaches out to pet him, belatedly remembering that there’s, like, a physical barrier to that until he sticks his hand into it, but the woman just laughs and opens the door for him. He sits on the floor of the pen, and the dog immediately puts his head in his lap, like that’s where it belongs. Auston pets his head, and he has this weird feeling of— déjà vu? Maybe? But not quite, because it’s more like Auston’s pretty sure he’s met this dog before, even though he has no idea when that would’ve happened.

“You said his name was Winston?” Auston asks. 

“He seemed to respond to that when he first got here,” the woman says. 

Auston honestly doesn’t think he looks like a Winston at all. The dog looks up at him, right into his eyes, and before Auston can think about it, he says, very quiet, “Mitch.” 

The dog perks up, and gently puts his paws on Auston’s chest to lick his face. Auston’s usually not the biggest fan of dog breath in his face—unless it’s Chips or Salsa or Nala, of course—but he welcomes the affection. He thinks it’s a confirmation, so. Mitch it is. 

“I’ll let you guys hang out for a bit,” the woman says, and Auston knows that he won’t get to take Mitch home with him for a while, if he does at all, but still, in that moment, Auston feels like Mitch is his dog. 

“I’m glad I found you, buddy,” Auston says, scratching under Mitch’s chin, and Mitch licks his hand, which Auston’s pretty sure means he agrees. 

That night, Auston has a dream where he’s practicing one-timers with a teammate whose face he can’t make out. In the dream, he shatters a pane of glass, but when he goes to high-five whoever had fed him the pass, he’s skating away, and Auston wants to skate after him, but he’s frozen in place. 

…… 

It’s shockingly easy to adjust to having a dog. 

Auston’s parents are around for now, helping him get set up and adjust to Toronto life, and they’re more than willing to hang around with Mitch while Auston’s at practice. Auston wouldn’t ask them to—he’s got money to hire a dogsitter, and he has a few leads on some good ones—but he’s not really surprised when they offer. Mitch is really lovable, even by puppy standards, and he wins them both over pretty much instantly. 

The first person on the team to meet him is Mo, who’s very impressed that Mitch already knows how to high-five, and the second is Marty, who has a dog of his own, and uses the phrase ‘puppy playdate’ unironically more than Auston would expect from a guy whose biggest job on the ice is landing hits and dropping gloves when he needs to. Marty and Mitch get along great, though, and Auston mostly sits back as they roll around on his living room floor, playing the most involved game of fetch Auston’s ever seen, which seems to involve tackling and tummy rubs, and Auston starts to wonder if Mitch likes Marty more than he likes him, until Mitch comes over and nuzzles against Auston’s legs, like he’s thanking him for inviting a friend over. 

“Yeah, he and Jax will get along great,” Marty says, with a big smile. “I’ll bring him by sometime.” 

Mitch barks, and Auston laughs. “For sure.” 

One by one, Mitch wins over all the guys on the team— Bozie and Reemer stop by to play soccer with him, sometimes, and Zach takes him home when Auston goes away for their bye week. He misses him the entire time, but before he can figure out a not-lame way to ask Zach for updates, Zach sends him a picture of Mitch with his brothers, splayed across both their laps as they play some video game. 

_ literally everyone loves ur dog,  _ Zach says. 

Auston smiles.  _ he does that.  _

And it’s true. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that the guys on the team are in good spirits this year, more hopeful than before, and a large part of that is because of Auston, but still. Even when the team has its best season in years, only missing out on the last wildcard spot by a few losses and ending the season feeling hopeful about next year, and even when Auston wins the Calder, he thinks that the luckiest break he had this year was finding this dog.

…… 

On Auston’s first night back in Toronto, with Mitch curled up beside him, he has a dream about a skinny boy with brown hair and blue eyes. 

Auston’s dreamed about him before. He’s not sure where he knows him from, but he knows that he’s met him before, because even when he wakes up, he can’t place the face. Sometimes, in the dreams, the boy is wearing a Leafs practice jersey, and sometimes he’s wearing a baseball cap, driving a car as Auston sits in the passenger seat. 

This time, they’re playing golf. 

“Nice bucket hat,” Auston says, and the boy looks up at him, eyes wide. 

“Did you just— Matts?” the boy says. 

It’s the first time they’ve ever spoken in one of these dreams, and his voice is deeper than Auston expects it to be. It kind of takes him by surprise. 

“Yeah,” Auston says, kind of stammering. “Hi.”

“Do you know who I am?”

“You’re my friend,” Auston says. “Right?” 

“I—yeah,” the boy says, but he’s still staring at Auston like he’s some sort of epiphany. “Do you know how we know each other?” 

Auston furrows his brow, and he tries to think. “Were you ever with NTDP?” 

The boy shakes his head. “I’m Canadian. From Toronto, actually.” 

“Oh, I play there,” Auston says, and the boy snorts. 

“I’m aware,” he says, wry. “I play hockey too.” 

“Where?” Auston asks. 

The boy sighs. “That’s a complicated question.” 

“What, you don’t have a team?” Auston asks 

He makes a hand gesture, waving off the question. “Whatever, doesn’t matter. You’re talking, this is good.” 

“It’s— what?” Auston shakes his head a little. “Wait, who are you?” 

“You can call me Marns,” the boy says, holding out his hand, and something about the name rings a bell. 

“Marns,” Auston says, reaching for his hand slowly. “Is that… short for Marner?” 

Marns’ face lights up. “I— yeah, it is.”

Something about his smile— it’s so familiar that it hurts, like something Auston didn’t even know he missed. 

Still, it’s a nice smile, and Auston can’t help but return it. “God, I’ve missed you.” 

“You don’t even know,” Marns says, grinning even wider, and Auston finally takes his hand—

He wakes up, the Toronto sun streaming in through the window, and Mitch standing over him, barking in his face. 

“Hey, buddy,” Auston says, scratching him behind the ears. “Give me a second, okay?”

Mitch barks again, insistent. 

“I’m sorry, I just— give me a sec, I had a really weird dream.” 

Mitch stops barking abruptly, then climbs off of Auston and calmly lies down at the foot of the bed, like he’s hurt. 

“Hey, no,” Auston says, immediately a little more awake as he sits up. He knows that there’s no way Mitch is offended—he’s a smart dog, but he’s still a dog—but Auston’s kind of concerned by the reaction anyway. “Sorry, I’ll walk you now.” 

Mitch reluctantly wags his tail, and Auston breathes out a sigh of relief, then climbs out of bed and begins to get dressed, trying to remember if he’s ever met someone with the name Marner before.  

……

Auston does some research and finds a Marner family in Thornhill. They have one son, a few years older than Auston, but he doesn’t play hockey, and when Auston looks him up on Facebook—which he feels really creepy doing, but he’s not planning on tracking the guy down, or anything—he doesn’t quite look like the guy from Auston’s dream. 

There’s one family picture, and he can see glimpses of Marns in all of their faces, and it’s more unsettling than it has any right to be.

…… 

When Patty first meets Mitch, his eyes go wide. 

“Mitchy,” he says, kind of quiet, and then he turns to Auston. “Matty, is this— what’s going on?” 

Auston stares at him. “That’s… my dog.” 

“But—” Patty looks down at Mitch, then back at Auston, and Auston notices that Mitch isn’t jumping or wagging his tail or anything, just staring at Patty, kind of intent. 

He doesn’t really know what to make of it, though, so he just says, “He’s a rescue, so if he looks familiar, there’s a chance you might’ve…” his voice trails off, because he doesn’t think that’s actually at all likely, and if Patty knows Mitch’s original owners, they might want him back, and Auston doesn’t want to think about that. 

“Maybe,” Patty says, sounding unconvinced. 

That night, Auston has another dream about Marns. They’re in an apartment Auston doesn’t recognize, but he’s got a feeling that it’s Marns’, if the familiar ‘Extra Butter’ hat lying on the coffee table is any indication. 

“So, Patty’s here?” Marns asks, sitting down next to him. 

“Yeah,” Auston says. “Guy’s got wheels on him.” 

Marns smiles. “Yeah, he’s fast for an old guy. He’s gonna be good for you guys.” 

“I hope so,” Auston says, but there’s something about the way Marns sounds so sure that makes him pause. “Wait, how— I didn’t tell you about Patty.” 

“Oh,” Marns says, and he freezes. 

“Do you— are you like… from the future?” Auston asks. 

Marns purses his lips. “Uh, not really?” 

“But you know things about it?” Auston asks, his head spinning. 

“Um, just— for a couple of months,” Marns says. “I’m not a prophet, or whatever, and neither are you.”

“Then what’s happening here?” Auston asks, backing away from him, even though he knows that if they touch, Auston will just wake up, in his bed, with his dog. 

“I don’t know how to explain it,” Marns says. “I don’t really know at all, honestly.” 

“But you know who I am,” Auston says. 

“Well, yeah,” Marns says. “Or, I know a version of you, I guess.” 

Auston thinks about all the dreams he’s had where they’ve been on the ice together, the name  _ Marner  _ written out in familiar block letters on the back of a jersey. “You’re a Leaf,” Auston says, and he doesn’t know how it took him this long to realize it. He can picture it on the roster, the number 16 next to a headshot where Marns is wearing what is unmistakably a Leafs jersey. 

“I— yeah,” Marns says. “Yeah, I am.” 

“But you’re not,” Auston says, and Marns winces. 

“I mean, not in your… not that you’d know, yeah.” 

“So we’re teammates?” Auston asks. 

“I don’t know how to— there’s some, like, version of the universe, or whatever, where we are,” Marns says, like it’s painful. “I was drafted the year before you, but we were rookies together.” 

“And you remember it?” 

Marns nods, and then, a little too quietly, “Yeah, I do.”

Auston tries not to think about the fact that Marns’ eyes look dreamy and distant and kind of beautiful. “Was it a good one?”

“It was,” Marns says, and then he cracks a smile. “Really good. You won the Calder, we made the playoffs—”

“We did?”

“Yeah,” Marns says. “Knocked out in the first round, but I got our first goal— god, it was fuckin’ magic.” He closes his eyes, probably picturing it, and Auston wants to do the same, but these are memories he doesn’t have. Suddenly, he feels like he’s missing something— he was supposed to play with Marns, and they were supposed to get knocked out of the playoffs together, and he was supposed to end last season proud of what he did, but bitter they didn’t get even further.  

“Sounds like it was special,” Auston says. 

Marns opens his eyes, then turns to look at Auston, almost sympathetic. “I don’t know what happens the season after that,” he says. “Or, I know the start, but not the ending.”

“Why not?” 

“It hasn’t happened yet,” Marns says, and then he furrows his brow. “Or, I guess, none of this has happened at all? But I’m— it’s January of our second season, in my head.” 

“How’re we doing?” Auston asks, smiling a bit. 

Marns grins back at him. “No spoilers.” 

“Alright, fine,” Auston says. “Can you tell me anything?” 

Marns looks at the ceiling, thinking. “Well, we play cards with Patty a lot.” 

“What games?” Auston asks. 

“Old Maid, sometimes. You’re really into Euchre.” 

“I don’t know how to play Euchre,” Auston says. 

“Yet,” Marns says, putting his feet on the coffee table. “Patty and I teach you.” 

“Am I any good?” 

“I mean, you play in pairs, and you’re usually paired with me, so yeah,” Marns says. “When it’s anyone else, you’re crap.”

“Ouch,” Auston says, smiling, not really offended at all. 

“You’re still really into it, you wanna play all the fucking time,” Marns says. “You should ask Patty to teach you, dude.” 

“Maybe I will,” Auston says, and he leans back on the couch, putting his feet on the coffee table and crossing his ankles, same as Marns. 

When Auston wakes up, he’s in a good mood, and it’s one of those rare days when Mitch is still asleep. Gently, Auston nudges him with his foot, and when Mitch wakes up, he seems even happier than usual to go for a walk. 

……

So, the season starts, Patty teaches all the younger guys card games, and Auston continues to talk to Marns. He wonders if he should be concerned by the persistence of this particular recurring dream, but every source he can find says that dreams can be weird or unpredictable, and as long as he’s not doing a ton of hallucinogens or experiencing distress because of them, he’s fine. 

They’re nice dreams, is the thing. Auston’s never gotten this much regular sleep in his life, never woken up happy so consistently, and he doesn’t, like, stop hanging out with people early so he can hang out with his dream-friend. It’s just something Auston looks forward to every night, and it’s not disrupting his life when he’s awake, so he figures it’s not a problem. He knows that Marns isn’t real, and that the version of the Leafs that he talks about are just Auston’s own fantasies and what-if’s. 

Or. Auston tries not to believe him, at least, even if it’s hard to convince himself it’s all fake when he can’t remember hearing about Euchre before Marns told him about it, or can’t really account for the weird knot he gets in his stomach whenever Bon Jovi comes on, just because Marns told him some story about them getting caught singing along. 

It’s whatever— Auston’s aware that it’s kind of a ridiculous thing to believe, so he’s not gonna go around telling everyone that they’re missing a player from their roster who’s never even been drafted into the NHL, and, as far as Auston can tell, doesn’t actually exist. 

…… 

Auston and Patty are playing Euchre against Brownie and Zach. More precisely, Brownie and Zach are being crushed, because Willy keeps offering Zach “advice” that’s objectively terrible and Zach keeps taking it, and Auston’s trying not to laugh as they bicker about whose fault it is. 

“Oh my god, this is worse than when Mouse—” Brownie says, and then he cuts himself off, frowning. “I mean, when Mi— or, when Marns—”

Auston’s entire world freezes the second he hears it. 

There’s a second of silence, and then Zach says, “What did you just say?”

“I—” Brownie looks a little shell-shocked, and when Auston glances around the circle, everyone looks kind of like they just saw a ghost. Suddenly, Auston really wishes Mitch was here—he makes everything feel a little more comfortable—and, absurdly, he wishes  _ Marns  _ was here, because Marns almost definitely knows what’s going on. 

Or, Marns would know what was going on, if he was a real person, but he’s  _ not, _ even if Brownie did just say his name.

“What did you just say?” Zach asks, his voice a little shaky. 

“I don’t know,” Brownie says, kind of dazed, and then he shakes his head. “I mean, sorry, I was just— I got something mixed up with a story about a guy from Juniors.”  

“Oh,” Willy says, and then he exhales. Auston can see him loosen his grip on Zach’s arm. “Okay, gotcha.” 

“Hey, Zachy, isn’t it your turn to deal?” Patty says.

“I—” Zach says. “Uh, y’know what, I don’t think we’re gonna come back from this one, so I’m just gonna duck out early.” 

“Yeah, I’m good to forfeit,” Brownie says, dropping his cards on the table so fast a few go flying off. “You guys won fair and square.” 

“I was gonna go to bed soon anyway,” Willy says, standing up, but he’s almost shaking, and Auston thinks that he’s probably not gonna be able to fall asleep for a while. 

“Alright,” Patty says, and it’s so clear he’s pretending to sound normal. “Night, boys.” 

The three of them nod and make their way out of the room, bidding them goodbye but leaving quickly, and Auston kind of wants to do the same, but he hasn’t been able to move ever since Brownie said Marns’ name. 

“You okay, kid?” Patty says, and Auston jumps. 

“Yeah, of course,” he says, probably too fast. “Nice win for us.” 

“Sure was,” Patty says. 

Auston gets up quickly. “I actually, uh, forgot, but my parents are dogsitting, and I said I’d call them.” 

“Oh,” Patty says, and he looks worried. “Well, give them my best.” 

“Will do.” Auston nods jerkily, then rushes out of the room and down the hall, hitting the FaceTime button on his mom’s contact with one hand as he uses the other to dig for his keycard.

“Papi, what a nice surprise,” his mom says, answering the call as he walks into his room. “Is everything okay?” 

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Auston says, trying to not sound out of breath. “Just wanted to check in.” 

“Well, everything’s fine over here,” she says, as Auston sits down on the bed. “We’re— oh!” The camera shakes, and she turns and starts speaking to someone off-camera, in a high-pitched voice. “Did you wanna say hi to Papi?” 

It’s Mitch, Auston realizes, and he perks up. “Hey, buddy.” 

Mitch barks, and Auston’s mom laughs. “Do you want me to put him on?” 

“Yeah, sure,” he says, blushing a little. He’s probably too old to be homesick, especially when Toronto doesn’t quite feel like home, but he’s still shaken from before, and he really, really misses his dog, right now.

“Alright, let me just—” she turns the camera around a few times before finally getting it to successfully point at Mitch, who’s sitting at her feet, patient. 

“Hey, Mitch,” Auston says, and Mitch jumps up and presses his nose to the camera. Auston laughs, except then the screen changes, and he’s staring at the ground, for a second, before he’s staring right at Mitch’s face, and he can hear his mom laughing in the background. 

“Brian, come in here,” she calls. “You won’t believe what Mitch did.” 

“Did you just knock my mom’s phone out of her hands?” Auston asks, smiling. 

Mitch barks in response, and Auston thinks it sounds pleased. 

“Sorry,” Auston’s mom says, presumably picking up the phone, and, after a second, Auston can see her face again. “Oh, no, how do I turn it—” 

“Just point the screen at him,” Auston says, not wanting to guide her through the process of switching between cameras again. 

“What happened?” Auston hears his dad’s voice say offscreen. It sounds kind of distant. 

“Oh, Mitch was so excited to hear Auston’s voice that he knocked it over,” his mom says, smiling. 

“Bad dog,” Auston’s dad says, but he kind of coos, so it’s pretty ineffective. It’s what usually happens when anyone tries to reprimand Mitch. “Hi, Aus.” 

“Hey, dad,” Auston says. “I, uh, think he just got confused, because he could hear my voice, but couldn’t see me, so—” 

“Ah,” his mom says, and then she turns the phone around, so Mitch is back in the frame, once again sitting patiently. He barks when he sees Auston, and Auston waves. 

“Hi, Mitchy,” Auston says. “How’s Toronto?” 

Mitch just wags his tail and leans up to sniff the phone, gently, this time. 

“Aw, he misses you,” Auston hears his mom say. 

“I miss him too,” Auston says. “It’s okay, bud, I’ll be back soon.” 

Mitch makes a whimpering noise, and Auston’s heart hurts, a little, but then his dad crouches down and starts to pet him, which seems to cheer him up. 

The call lasts for a while, and Auston’s grateful that he doesn’t have to ask his mom to keep the camera pointed at Mitch. By the end of it, Auston’s wiped out, and he gets ready for bed quickly before he falls into a dreamless sleep.  

…… 

The next morning, Auston wakes up to the sound of someone knocking at his door. 

He tries to ignore it and fall back asleep, but the knocking persists, and reluctantly he rolls over and grabs his phone. The first thing he notices is that “morning” is a very generous term for right now—the sun is up, but it’s still way too early for Auston’s taste—and the second is that he has a ton of missed calls and texts from Willy. 

The knocking starts to turn into some weird pseudo-drumbeat, so Auston yells, “One sec,” kind of annoyed, and he’s not all that surprised when he finally manages to drag himself out of bed and open the door to find a distressed looking William Nylander on the other side, wearing the same clothes he’d worn last night and looking more frazzled than Auston has ever seen him. 

“What the fuck,” Auston says flatly. 

“Hi, sorry,” Willy says. “It was urgent.” 

“And there was no one else you could’ve woken up?” Auston says. “This feels like the kind of thing Zachy would be better at handling.”

“He just fell asleep an hour ago, I didn’t want to wake him up,” Willy says. 

Auston’s eyebrows go way the fuck up, and he gives Willy’s outfit a pointed look. “What were you guys doing together until 4AM?” 

“It wasn’t—” Willy blushes. “Shut up, we were just talking.” 

“What about?” Auston asks. 

“Not whatever you’re thinking,” Willy says. “Just— did you ever tweet about jorts?” 

Auston blinks, not sure he heard correctly. “Did I ever tweet about jorts,” he echoes. 

“Yeah,” Willy says. “I mean, I checked, but like— something you deleted? Maybe?”

“Did you seriously wake me up at—” 

“Listen, I know, okay? It sounds ridiculous, but I just— did you?”

“I mean, in my entire life? Maybe,” Auston says. “I don’t know.” 

Willy shakes his head. “It was something at the beginning of the summer.” 

“No, I didn’t— I barely use Twitter, dude,” Auston says. 

“So you didn’t tweet a picture of ripped jorts?” Willy asks. 

“Why would I?” Auston asks. “Dude, what are you—”

“Because I remember you doing that,” Willy says. “Like, very clearly— one of the guys was being chirped for wearing ripped jorts, and some reporter tagged you, and you tweeted out a picture of your own jorts— this  _ happened,  _ I swear—” 

“You’re probably just confusing me with someone else,” Auston says. 

“Which is what I assumed, and then I forgot about it, but then last night during Euchre, when Brownie said—” 

“Okay, you’re really freaking me out,” Auston says, cutting him off. “I think you need some sleep, man.” 

“Zach thinks there’s something up too,” Willy says. “And neither of us knows why, but we both feel it, and it has something to do with—” 

“Don’t,” Auston says, desperate.

Willy stares at him, for a second. “So you feel it too,” he says. 

“I don’t know, just— don’t say his name,” Auston says, and he looks at his feet. 

“Do you know who he is?” Willy asks. 

And Auston knows the logical answer should be  _ no,  _ because the person he’s thinking of isn’t actually a person, just an amalgamation of faces that Auston’s brain has decided to put in his dreams over and over again, but he seems so real sometimes that Auston finds himself nodding. 

“I think so,” he says. “He’s, uh— he’s a hockey player.” Auston bites his lip. “Toronto kid. He’s… happy, most of the time. Or— he smiles a lot.” He takes a deep breath. “He was supposed to play here. With us.” 

“But he doesn’t,” Willy says. 

Auston shakes his head. 

“Well, where is he?” Willy asks.

“I don’t know,” Auston says, his voice kind of quiet. “Not here, I guess.” 

“Oh,” Willy says. “Do you know why?” 

“No,” Auston says. “I don’t know if there’s a reason for it.” 

“He’s supposed to be here, and he’s not. There’s gotta be a reason,” Willy says. 

Auston just shrugs, because if there is a reason, he doesn’t know what it could possibly be. 

…… 

On the plane back to Toronto, Willy sits next to Zach, and Auston sits next to Brownie, and, in low voices, they talk about what they know about Marner. 

“I could’ve sworn I played against this kid in the O— tiny, super annoying, wore 93,” Brownie says. “He played in London.” 

“He played for Team Canada, I think,” Willy says. “Or, he would’ve, I guess? At Worlds— it felt like they were missing a player.” 

“I think he was supposed to be my road roomie last year. I always expected someone to be there when I walked in,” Zach says. “It’s freaky, I can picture his headphones and everything.”

The thing is, for Auston— he can’t just pinpoint a moment where he feels like Marns should’ve been there. He can’t even pinpoint a bunch of moments, really, or at least, not discrete ones, because it all kind of runs together. Marns was supposed to be part of his life, and an important part of it, too, his teammate and his best friend and just  _ his,  _ really. 

He doesn’t really know how to say that to the guys, though, and he can’t tell them about the dreams. Those belong to him and Marns. 

“We carpooled,” Auston says. “And, I guess— y’know, we were buddies.” 

Zach gives him a look, kind of thoughtful. “I… you guys are close.” Willy and Brownie nod in agreement, and suddenly, they’re all staring at Auston with this weird combination of curiosity and sympathy. 

Auston’s face is bright red, but he just shrugs. “Yeah, I guess.” 

Willy and Zach exchange a look, but just when it looks like Willy’s about to say something, Brownie says, “Okay, uh, this is— let’s all take a bit to let this sink in, yeah? It’s been an intense twelve hours.” 

Auston spends the rest of the plane ride looking out the window, trying not to imagine a world where Marns is sitting next to him, asleep, his head almost resting on Auston’s shoulder.

…… 

When Auston gets home, his parents are out to dinner, so Mitch is the only one there, and Auston doesn’t even take off his shoes before he crouches on the ground to pet him. 

“I’ve missed you so much, buddy,” Auston says, pressing a kiss to Mitch’s head. 

Mitch turns his face up to rub their noses together, and Auston wraps his arms around him, running a hand through the soft fur of his back. He tucks his face into it for a second, because things are a lot, right now, and after a second, Mitch pulls away and starts to lick his face. 

“Stop,” Auston says, laughing, and he doesn’t really mean it. He looks at Mitch, fond, because he’s a great dog, except—

Some Siberian Huskies have blue eyes, and they’re always pretty striking, but there’s something about Mitch’s that have always been more expressive, and right now, they look downright familiar. And, like, Auston’s had Mitch for a year now, so it would make sense, but there’s something eerie about it, like he knows them from somewhere else, and his brain is just starting to make the connection. 

“Mitch,” Auston says, staring at him, and Mitch just looks back. 

Auston could swear that there’s realization on his face.  

Mitch has always been easy to take care of, smart as hell and incredibly well-behaved, and Auston’s always figured it was because whoever had last owned him had trained him well, but sometimes, Mitch is almost too obedient and too clever, too good at picking up on what Auston’s feeling and immediately making things better. 

People say that dogs are like that, and maybe there’s some truth to that, but Mitch— he seems to pick up on things, think about situations, cheer Auston up differently depending on the situation. It’s too thoughtful, to intuitive, too  _ human.  _

“Mitch,” Auston repeats, and he furrows his brow. “Mitch… Marner.” 

Mitch doesn’t move, and Auston keeps staring at him, doesn’t stop stroking the fur of his back. “Mitch Marner, that’s— Mitchy.” 

Mitch tears his gaze away, but he doesn’t leave, just lies down in place. On instinct, Auston sits, his back against his suitcase, and Marns moves his head so that it’s resting on Auston’s lap, then looks up at him, almost apologetic. 

“Marns,” Auston says to him. “You’re— you’re Marns.” 

He doesn’t know what he should be feeling, and Mitch seems braced for anger or rejection, but the first thing that strikes him is relief, because Mitch is Marns, and Auston might not fully understand how or why, but still, this means Mitch Marner is in his life, Mitch Marner is  _ here. _

“Mitch,” Auston says, a little choked, but he’s smiling, and he starts to pet him again. “God, I’ve really missed you.”  ****


	2. Chapter 2

That night, when Auston dreams, Marns—Mitch—is there, but he doesn’t speak first.

“So,” Auston says, kind of awkward. “You’re— uh, we should probably talk about it.”

“Probably,” Mitch says, his arms crossed.

Auston looks around. “I— is this your bedroom?”

“Yeah,” Mitch says.

“We’ve never been here before,” Auston says

“This is the first time you’ve ever been in this room,” Mitch says. “Or— like, that’s how it is in my world.”

“Oh,” Auston says. “So the places where I see you— those are places that I remember in your world?”

“Guess so,” Mitch says. “I’ve gotta be honest with you, I don’t really understand much of it at all.”

“What do you understand? Because I thought— I don’t know that it was just in my head? But— other people remember, too,” Auston says.

“Who?” Mitch asks.

“Willy, and Brownie, and Zach—” Auston has a realization. “Patty knew when he first saw you, didn’t he?”

“Patty’s a smart guy,” Mitch says, looking at his feet.

“Do you talk to him?” Auston asks.

“I mean,” Mitch says. “When I don’t talk to you, yeah? Only sometimes, though.”

The thought of Mitch talking to Patty doesn’t sit right with Auston, and he doesn’t know why. He shouldn’t be hurt by it, probably, because it’s not like he has any reason to think he’s special, or like he has some weird claim on Mitch, but still. He just— he doesn’t like it at all, and his face must show some of that, because Mitch starts laughing.

“Oh my god, you’re so jealous,” Mitch says.

Auston frowns, blushing. “No I’m not,” he says, even though he definitely is.

“Don’t worry, I’m not judging,” Mitch says. “It’s just— funny.”

“What kind of funny?”

“Like, ironic?” Mitch shrugs. “I talk to you way more than I talk to anyone else, dude.”

“Oh,” Auston says, and he relaxes, a little. “So do you talk with everyone?”

“Just you and Patty,” Mitch says. “I— I sometimes check in on Marty, I guess.”

“But you don’t talk to him?”

Mitch shrugs. “It’s complicated.”

“No, really?” Auston deadpans.

“I mean— I talk, he doesn’t talk back, “ Mitch says. “Not really, anyway. I don’t think he knows as much as you or Patty.”

“So why do you check up on him?” Auston asks.

“Same reason I check up on you,” Mitch says. “I miss him.”

Auston’s stomach does something complicated at that, and he really wants to reach out and grab Mitch’s hand, but he knows that would end the dream, so he doesn’t. “I mean, you’re… still around,” he says.

“I know, but it’s not exactly the same,” Mitch says. “I mean, no offense, being your dog is a pretty sweet deal, but—” he shrugs. “I miss my life, I guess.”

Auston looks at Mitch for a second, then furrows his brow. “Are… do you think things are stuck this way?”

“I don’t know,” Mitch says. “I kind of assumed they were.”

There’s something about the calm resignation in his voice that makes Auston feel awful, and kind of sick, and underneath it all, there’s a wave of indignance, because he’s been missing something big in his life since he set foot in Toronto, and there’s no way he’s not gonna fight to get it back, now that he knows what it is.

“Fuck that,” Auston says, shaking his head. “No, we’re— there’s gotta be a way to undo it.”  

“It’s not exactly something you can google,” Mitch says.

“There are other ways to learn things,” Auston says. “We could ask people, or read books—”

“What books? And who would we even—”

“I don’t know, Patty seems to know shit. I could find books, dude. Like, I could go to the library, or whatever.”

“Do you even have a library card?” Mitch asks.

“I could get a library card,” Auston says, frustrated. “That’s not the point. We don’t even know why this happened.”

“And we don’t have any way to figure that out,” Mitch says. “You don’t remember anything.”

“That’s not true,” Auston says. “I remember a bunch of things.”

“It’s not enough,” Mitch says.

“But it’s not nothing,” Auston says. “Come on, we should at least try.”

“But—” Mitch runs a hand through his hair. “I just— can’t we wait?”

“Why?”

“Please?” Mitch looks at him, and his eyes— Auston knows those eyes so well, and he knows how bad he is at saying no to them, but this is important, so he looks away.

“You can’t just ask me to sit and do nothing if you don’t give me a reason, Marns,” he says.

There’s a pause, and it feels kind of heavy, and when Auston looks over, Mitch is deep in thought.

Finally, he says, “You’re mad at me.”

Auston blinks. “What?”

“In my world,” Mitch says. “Like, where my memories leave off— we had a really big fight. Bigger than usual, and I’m pretty sure we’re—” he gulps. “I don’t think we’re friends, anymore.”

Auston feels his entire body go numb for a second. He opens his mouth to speak, but words don’t come out, and this shouldn’t feel like his entire world is being ripped apart.

“It was one of those— there was a lot of shit building up to it, so by the time we were fighting, it just, like spiraled,” Mitch says.

“But it was just a fight,” Auston says.  

“It wasn’t the kind of thing you can just, like, forgive and forget,” Mitch says.

“That doesn’t mean it’s over,” Auston says, and he didn’t think it was possible to feel this much regret for something that hasn’t even happened yet, that won’t happen ever, in this universe, except—

Except he does, and he feels it like a memory.

Because it is.

“You told me that— that we were barely even friends, and to grow the fuck up,” Auston says, and the words kind of sting, but there’s also so much relief and hope running through him right now, because he can hear them in Mitch’s voice _._

“You remember?” Mitch says, his eyes going wide. “How—”

“I don’t know,” Auston says, smiling in disbelief. “I just— it’s there. I was there for that.”

“Holy shit,” Mitch says, breathless. “Aus, I— I didn’t mean it, I really didn’t.”

“I know,” Auston says. “I believe you.”

“You were my best friend,” Mitch says. “You _are_ my best friend, and I just— I was going through some shit, and took it out on you, and that was so fucked up. I didn’t even know how to apologize—”

“I told you I couldn’t be your friend anymore,” Auston says. “I mean, we both said some pretty messed up stuff.”

“Yeah, but— I care about you a lot,” Mitch says. “And it was just, like, so fucked up to try and make you think that you didn’t matter to me, like, at all, ever. Because you really do, like, so much. Too much, probably.”

“I know—” Auston says, and he puts his hand on Mitch’s, trying to be comforting, except the second after that, he’s in a dark bedroom, and his dog is licking at his face.

Right.

“Hey,” Auston says, because Mitch seems to be trying to make up for the fact that he can’t speak by showing how sorry he is. It’s pretty cute, and Auston laughs. “It’s okay, I promise. Sorry I woke us up.”

Mitch licks at his face one more time, then nestles up beside Auston, and Auston scratches at his head.

“Alright, back to sleep,” Auston says, and then he lies back down. “Guess I’ll see you in a few.”

Soon enough, he’s back with Mitch—human Mitch—who is sitting on his bed hugging a pillow, this time.

“I just really wanted you to know I was sorry,” he says, a vaguely apologetic smile on his face. “Like, seriously— you’re really fucking important to me.”

“Apology accepted,” Auston says. “But— let’s try to fix this, yeah? Like, the universe, or whatever.”

“Alright,” Mitch says, nodding. “Okay, yeah.”

“Cool,” Auston says, then sits at the end of the bed. “So, uh, why am I in your bedroom?”

“Hm,” Mitch says, and furrows his brow, like he’s trying to remember. “You were crashing here, I think, and you came in here to grab sweats to borrow, or something?”

“Oh,” Auston says, and… it doesn’t feel right, really, but Mitch is definitely not lying, so Auston figures his memory is just being weird, and shrugs it off.

……

Patty doesn’t seem all that surprised when Auston asks him for a ride home the next day, and Auston feels bad ignoring the concerned looks Willy keeps shooting him, but he kind of wants to get a handle on what Patty knows first, figuring he can get everyone on the same page afterward.

“So, uh,” Auston says, once they’re in Patty’s car. “I wanted to ask you about something.”

“I figured,” Patty says.

“It’s about,” Auston says, and then he takes a deep breath. “It’s about my friend. Um, Mitch Marner?”

Patty nods, very slow and almost solemn. “I figured this was coming.”

“So you— uh, you know him,” Auston says.

“Yeah,” Patty says. “And I’m guessing you do too?”

“We’ve been talking, lately,” Auston says. “And he— I didn’t realize that anyone else on the team, uh. Knew him.”

“So that is what you and the rest of the young guys were talking about on the plane?” Patty asks.

Auston nods. “Everyone has these… flashes of memories of him, I guess? But I don’t think he’s actually spoken to anyone else.”

“But you know he’s—” Patty does this weird bobbing nod thing, like, _y’know._

“Yes?” Auston says. “I know he’s— like, it sounds fucking crazy, but he’s supposed to be here, but he’s not— or, uh, he is, I guess, but he’s supposed to be on the team, and not... um.”

“A dog?”  

“Yeah,” Auston says. “That sounds kind of weird, out loud.”

“I know,” Patty says.

“But he is,” Auston says. “That— I knew that was his name when I first saw him, but I didn’t know it was— I didn’t even think he was real, until Brownie said his name.”

“But you know, now,” Patty says.

“I do,” Auston says. “But you knew first.”

Patty purses his lips. “I have a good sense for these kinds of things.”

“What do you mean by these kinds of things?” Auston asks. “What kind of thing is this?”

“That’s probably something I should tell both of you at once,” Patty says.

“You mean… tonight?” Auston asks, wondering if Patty’s gonna, like, Inception him.

“I was thinking more along the lines of this afternoon,” Patty says.

“Oh.” Right. Mitch might be a dog, but he can still hear. “Yeah, sure.”

Auston’s parents are around when they get back, so he and Patty take Mitch out for a walk. It’s kind of a cloudy day, a little colder than Auston would like, but not actually that bad for November, and not many people are out, so the streets feel quiet, and they stop on a park bench a few blocks from Auston’s place.

“Mitchy was, uh, pretty nervous, going into the season,” Patty says. “And things didn’t get off to a great start, people were throwing the word slump around— I only know what’s happened up through, uh, today, but for a while there, he was on the fourth line, kept saying he wished he had a do-over.”

“A do-over?” Auston asks, and then looks at Mitch, who seems vaguely guilty.

“An ‘extra life,’ in his words,” Patty says.

“How bad was it?” Auston asks Mitch, even though he can’t answer.

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Patty says. “He was just worried.”

“So he just… wished for this, by accident?” Auston says.

“Not by accident,” Patty says, and there’s a terrible second where Auston thinks Mitch wanted this to happen, but then he continues. “There are… well. Sometimes people can make things happen, if you ask them to.”

“What?” Auston asks.

“Sometimes it’s possible to… shift the universe a bit, I guess,” Patty says.

“You mean— what, magic?” Auston asks.

“Not the word I’d use for it,” Patty says. “But— something like that, yeah.”

“And how do— are you, like, one of the people who can?” Auston asks.

Patty nods. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I am.”

“So you did this,” Auston says, and he doesn’t mean for it to sound like an accusation, at first, except then he thinks about it, and he decides that no, yeah, he’s kinda pissed.

Patty, for his part, doesn’t get defensive. “I don’t know if I did,” he says, like he’s trying to be diplomatic. “There’s a chance it was me, but we can’t know for sure.”

“Well, if it’s you, can you undo it?” Auston asks.

“I try, sometimes,” Patty says. “It’s not… it doesn’t just happen, but when I think it’ll work— I try.”

“What does that mean?”

“When you remember more,” Patty says. “It’s sort of like— a gap, I guess. A rip.”

Mitch barks, then puts his nose on Auston’s knee, and after a second, Auston realizes it’s a chirp.

“Oh my god,” Auston says, and he goes to nudge Mitch’s head off his knee, but ends up petting him, because he’s kind of a sucker. “Okay, well, do you think it would be helpful to, like, jog those memories?”

“Is that possible?” Patty asks.

Auston shrugs. “You’d know better than I would.”

“I mean, I guess it wouldn’t hurt,” Patty says, considering. “Give it a go, if you can.”

Auston nods, then shares a glance with Mitch, gives him a small smile.

“I think we should,” Auston says, and for the first time, he feels something like hopeful.

……

Auston tells Willy, and Willy calls a team meeting, because of course he does.

“Okay, listen up, fuckers,” Willy says, which is one way to lead into, _hey, we all have memories of a guy who’s not on the roster who’s actually Matty’s dog._

Thankfully, he lets Auston take the lead on the actual explanation, and he watches their faces as the seeds of memories plant themselves, of a guy who should’ve been there, things that should’ve happened that didn’t.

“He liked dancing,” Gards says. “If I’m thinking of the right guy.”

“Skinny?” Mo says. “Was he skinny?”

“Stop with the past tense, he’s not dead,” Marty says.  

“But he’s still not here,” James says. “It feels weird to talk about him like he is.”

“I think— Lex remembers him?” Carrick says, sound uncertain. “She was asking me about a kid on the team, whose name she couldn’t remember.”

That starts a chorus of people chiming in about various wives and girlfriends and children who asked about a guy who didn’t fit the description of anyone on the team.

It’s a little jarring for all of them, but some of the guys feel it more than others. Mac seems surprised, but relatively unphased, and Freddie is his usual stoic self, but on the other hand, Marty’s brow is furrowed, and Auston remembers Mitch mentioning checking up on him.

But they all share memories, and Mitch starts to feel realer than he had before.

That night, when Auston goes to bed and sees Mitch, he greets him with, “I think we made some serious progress today.”

Mitch grins, relieved, thankful, and absolutely perfect. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Auston says, and the smile he gives Mitch in return is probably kind of dumb, but whatever.

“Well, then,” Mitch says, sitting down. “Tell me all about it.”

And Auston does.

……

Of all the unexpected realizations that Auston’s had to deal with, the strangest one happens when he’s with Freddie, which is weirdly on-brand. Freddie’s an unassuming guy whose sense of humor sneaks up on you, and Auston likes hanging out with him, so he’s not particularly surprised to learn that that’s true in other universes, as well. Some people just mesh well together, Auston figures.

“We played Fornite a lot,” Freddie says. “The three of us. So we can play a little, if you’re trying to remember? Unless you wanna get your mind off things.”

Auston shrugs. “Either’s probably good.”

“You should probably come over to my place,” Freddie says.

“Why?”

Freddie shrugs, but Auston can spot fake-casual from a mile away. “Just have a hunch, I guess.”

So really, Auston’s prepared for Freddie to reveal some piece of weird information, but he doesn’t expect it to be like this.

Just. One second, they’re playing, and Auston’s chirping Freddie for sucking—because he does—and the next, Auston’s struck with the flash of a memory coming back.

Usually, when this happens, it’s a slow thing. Realizations dawn, Auston’s pretty sure, but this is more like a clap of thunder, catching Auston off-guard enough that he drops his controller, and Freddie’s saying his name, but Auston can’t speak for a moment.

Because—

Well.

Auston remembers.

 

_It’s November, and they were in Montreal before, but now they’re back in Toronto, celebrating the win well into the night._

_They’d been drinking before, but Auston’s at Mitch’s, now, staying here, for some reason. He can’t remember why, but Mitch had smiled when he suggested it, and that’s really all the convincing Auston needs._

_Maybe he’s too easily convinced, but he’s pretty sure he’s only ever found good things, following Mitch’s smile._

_“Two goals,” Mitch is saying._

_“Two goals,” Auston repeats, for what’s probably the billionth time since they stepped off the ice. A shutout win against a rival, one period on the same line, and two beautiful, beautiful goals, Mitch to Auston to the back of the net— there’s good reason to keep bringing it up, honestly._

_“I can’t believe it,” Mitch says. “I always knew it’d be good, but— fuck.”_

_“You always knew what would be good?” Auston asks._

_“This,” Mitch says, gesturing between the two of them. “Us.”_

_“God, yeah,” Auston says. He doesn’t remember the last time he smiled like this; he doesn’t remember the last time he felt like this, happy and victorious and a little like flying._

_Mitch was probably there, though._

_“I hope we get to play together again,” Mitch says. “We’re incredible.”_

_“I know,” Auston says._

_“We just— it makes sense, y’know? We fit so well.”_

_Auston blushes. “You make it sound like it’s destiny, or something.”_

_“I don’t know,” Mitch says, his eyes closed, and Auston can’t help but notice how long his eyelashes long are. “It is, a little bit, right?”_

_“Oh,” Auston says, a little dumbstruck, and then Mitch opens his eyes and stares at Auston for a second._

_There’s space between them, for a second, and then it’s rapidly disappearing, and Auston’s not sure if it’s him moving toward Mitch or Mitch moving toward him or both of them being drawn towards each other, but either way, it’s not long before the distance has been closed, and Mitch’s lips are warm and soft on Auston’s._

Auston remembers— touching, remembers, for the first time, the way Mitch’s skin had been warm under his fingers, the way it had felt like the best and most terrifying thing in the world; he remembers laughing, he remembers Mitch’s smile, he remembers noises that he can’t believe he forgot in the first place, magic or no magic.

He remembers feeling so good, and so warm and happy and overwhelmed and like he couldn’t get enough, and he remembers thinking that Mitch was right, and that it was destiny, because the way Mitch’s body fit against his, the way Mitch’s hands fit over his waist— that was too perfect, which was saying something, because Mitch had always been too perfect.

And after that, all he can remember is sadness, until the blurry outlines of a mid-January fight.

 

“Oh,” Auston says, after what feels like forever, but had only really been a second.

“Matty—”

“Something… happened,” Auston says. “That’s why we— before— _fuck.”_ He feels like he can’t breathe, all of a sudden, but he wills himself to take slow, purposeful breaths, because he doesn’t want to have a panic attack right now.

“I know,” Freddie says.

“So you knew we—”

“I don’t know what it was, just— it happened,” Freddie says. “That’s why I thought it was best if we were here.”

“Because you didn’t want me to have to see him when I remembered,” Auston says.

“Yeah,” Freddie says. “I— are you, like, okay?”

And the thing is, Auston’s not, because it feels like his heart is being ripped out of his chest, and there’s so much falling into place, suddenly, new pieces of information continuing to flood his brain.

“I don’t know,” he says honestly. “I— I’m gonna go home.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Auston says, and he’s thankful, right now, that Mitch is a dog who can curl up against him and let Auston pet his head and can’t break his heart the way the real Mitch can, the way he _did._ “I need to think.”

“Alright,” Freddie says. “Are you gonna call a cab?”

“I’ll walk,” Auston says, because he’s pretty sure he’s not gonna get a clear head about this, but fresh air sounds like it would help sort things out, if only a little.

……

So, Auston walks, and he thinks.

He remembers something that Mitch doesn’t.

He’s not sure why he’s so positive that Mitch is being honest about not remembering, but it’s the same kind of certainty he had when he realized who Mitch was and where he’d gone. It’s not just a gut reaction— Auston _knows,_ like he’s some sort of human lie detector, that Mitch truly doesn’t remember sleeping together in his universe, but Auston also remembers that it happened.

November. Montreal. Two incredible goals, one incredible night, and one horrible morning.

It checks out, too—the fight, the confusion, any weird wishes about wanting to go back in time and redo shit—of course Mitch hadn’t wanted to remember.

It had been a mistake. A stupid, caught-up-in-the-moment blunder. Auston should have been more careful, because he doesn’t think one night like that could ever be worth years of friendship, and he can understand, now, wanting a do-over.

He’d wished for it too. Through Freddie, he’s pretty sure.

Auston wishes he didn’t remember. He’d had a shot at getting his best friend back, and he’d fucked it up, because if they ever fix this, Mitch is going to remember, and they’ll be no better off for it.

He thinks back to that night—thinking that he and Mitch were meant to be, thinking that he could see something in Mitch’s eyes that was clearly just in Auston’s head, thinking that this was something inevitable—and he thinks that he probably should’ve stopped messing with destiny a long time ago.

……

Auston really doesn’t want to fall asleep that night, because he can’t stand the thought of seeing Mitch, but relearning old heartbreak is kind of exhausting, so he really doesn’t have much choice in the matter.

“Hey,” Mitch says with a gentle voice. “You’ve been on edge all day, what’s up?”

“You’re pretty perceptive in dog form,” Auston says.

“I’m perceptive as a person, too,” Mitch says. “But, yeah, I usually don’t get that many tummy rubs unless you’re worried about something.”

Auston shrugs, but doesn’t say anything.

“Aus?” Mitch says, his voice even softer.

“Sorry, sorry, I just— it’s not an easy thing to talk about.”

“It’s okay,” Mitch says, gingerly sitting down next to him. They’re in Auston’s living room for this dream, which feels like a home that Mitch fits too well in, and Auston hates the lump that thought puts in his throat. “Best friend, remember?”

“No, I know, but— it’s about—” he bites his lip. “I remembered something, about you. Or— about us, I guess.”  

“Us,” Mitch echoes.

“Yeah,” Auston says. “Us.”

There’s a beat, and then, “And you don’t want to tell me because…” Mitch’s voice trails off.

Auston shrugs. “Remember how we fought?”

“Yeah?” Mitch says, and Auston doesn’t need to be touching him to feel him tense up.

“I remembered why,” Auston says.

Mitch furrows his brow. “I remember too,” he says. “It was just— it was stupid shit.”

Auston shakes his head. “No, I mean— I remembered the real reason. Why we were ready to turn dumb stuff into that big of a fight.”

“It was because I wasn’t playing well, and you were—”

“No, Mitchy,” Auston says. “There was more stuff, and— I don’t know.”

“What?” Mitch says.

“I’m just— maybe we were too quick to forgive and forget, before,” Auston says.

Mitch’s voice is a little quieter the next time he speaks. “What?”

“It’s not that I can’t, it’s just— I think it might be more complicated than we’re making it out to be.”

“I— did I fuck up, or did you?”

“It’s not like that,” Auston says. “Well, me, I guess.”

“Did you… hurt me?”

Auston knows what Mitch means by that, but the honest answer isn’t a simple yes or no. “I hurt us.”

“Us.”

“Yeah,” Auston says. “I don’t— I wish I didn’t remember it.”

“And that’s why you’re not gonna tell me,” Mitch says.

Auston nods.

“Okay, well.” Mitch takes a breath. “I want us to forgive each other, whatever it was.”

“I wish it was that simple,” Auston says, and he can’t look at Mitch as he says it.

There’s a beat of silence, and Auston kind of wants to wake up, but then, Mitch grabs his hand, interlacing their fingers together, and it feels so familiar that it takes Auston a second to realize that this isn’t supposed to work.

“I’m not saying it’ll be easy,” Mitch says. “I’m just saying that I want to.”

Auston looks down at their hands, and like— he can feel Mitch’s heartbeat under the skin of his palm.

“Okay,” Auston says.

“It might take some time,” Mitch says. “I still want us to try and fix this.”

“That was never— like, I still want you back on the team,” Auston says.

“I didn’t mean the universe,” Mitch says, and the small smile he gives Auston feels like a dagger right to the chest. “I meant us.”

“Us,” Auston repeats, and the way it echoes— it sounds sacred, almost. Like a promise.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened,” Mitch says. “I’ll remember it eventually, I guess, but— whatever it was, we can work through it, okay?”

“I hope so,” Auston says.

“I know so,” Mitch says. “Best friends, right?”

“Always,” Auston says.

“Good,” Mitch says, and then he lets go of Auston’s hand.

It feels permanent, for some reason, and with a sinking feeling in his stomach, Auston reaches out to touch him again, and, sure enough, he’s awake in his bed as soon as they make contact.

But, Auston falls back asleep quickly enough, and when he does, Mitch is still there, and still smiling, and that’s all Auston can really hope for.  

……

Slowly, the memories come back, creeping in like normal—or as close to normal as this kind of thing can be—and the season crawls along.

Days and games pass in a blur, dreams seem to go on longer and longer, and Mitch feels more real as the world they live in slips away.

The whirlwind of memories being swapped and reset would be terrifying if it didn’t feel like something being rapidly realigned, and Patty and Freddie more or less confirm that that’s what’s happening.

They don’t have to bother to try and jog memories anymore. There’s not going to be any more wishing.

Seconds turn to minutes turn to hours, same as they always have, but it feels faster and slower, like being awake and being asleep aren’t really any different, anymore—

And then there’s one last clap-of-thunder memory.

_Auston is standing in front of a door, shaking, barely holding in tears, and his breath is coming in short._

_He’s pretty sure this room is Freddie’s. He hopes it is, anyway, and if it’s not, then he hopes that whoever’s in there is going to be able to offer some reassurance._

_He also just kind of hopes they answer._

_He knocks, loudly, and waits for a few terrifying seconds, until the door opens._

_It is Freddie’s room, and the relief he feels at that is the closest thing he can imagine to happiness, right now._

_“Sup,” Auston says._

_“Hi,” Freddie says, forgoing his usual nonchalant expression in favor of genuine concern, thankfully. “What’s wrong?”_

_“Can I come in?”_

_“Sure,” Freddie says, stepping aside to let Auston through._

_As the door closes, Auston sits down on bed, letting out a long exhale. “I need to vent about something.”_

_“Okay,” Freddie says, his voice even, his face indiscernible. “Vent away.”_

_Auston hesitates for a second, but then he says, “I think I fucked things up with Mitch.”_

_“How?”_

_Auston snorts. “How much time do you have?”_

_“Enough to hear the full story from start to finish,” Freddie says._

_“I don’t even know when the start would be,” Auston says. “But— something happened. In November.”_

And then, the dust settles.


	3. Chapter 3

It’s January when Auston wakes up in a hotel in Philly, feeling like his team can’t buy a win, and sick to his stomach about the fight he had with Mitch last night and the subsequent year and a half of his life that was thrown into disarray. 

Or maybe he’s just feeling sick because he has no sense of time, right now.  

It’s strange, knowing that he’s lived the same two years twice and not feeling any older for it. He’s still Auston Matthews, he’s still 20, and he can separate the right memories from the wrong ones. He’s never owned a dog that wasn’t his family’s, never wandered into a shelter and adopted one—why would he, he’s way too fucking busy to be a dog owner, he can barely cook—and he knows exactly who Mitch Marner is, all the ways he does and doesn’t fit into his life and his team and his heart. 

Auston tries to remember a first practice that doesn’t end with shattered glass on the ice, and it feels wrong. 

He doesn’t know what to expect when Mitch wakes up. Even after some sleep, and in the clear light of day, it feels like he can’t shake last night. He can’t picture a world where Mitch Marner isn’t his best friend. Right now, he also can’t picture a world where he is. 

And above all, Auston is, of course, still achingly, horrifyingly in love with him. 

That’s the part he’d never forgotten. Maybe the heartbreak is sharper, now, but he’s gotten a lot of memories back in flashes, and loving Mitch— that had never been like that. He’d loved him from the second he’d seen him in a dream, just a faceless blur skating away from his outstretched hand. 

The only part Auston had to relearn was the heartbreak.

It’s a gloomy morning before Mitch wakes up, and Auston can’t even bring himself to feel weird about watching Mitch sleep, because he knows the second he wakes up, things are gonna be different. 

This is the last chance he has to savor this, before they talk about everything they’d tried to run away from. He figures he might as well hold onto this memory, keep something of Mitch that he can treasure in the wake of everything. 

Eventually, though, Mitch does wake up, sleepy realization dawning on him, and Auston can read it in his face, can see him asking himself questions, answering them, and asking more and more. 

It’s a few minutes before he speaks. 

“So, uh, I’m back,” Mitch says. 

“Yeah,” Auston says, his voice hollow. 

“Hooray,” Mitch says, in a weak tone that would be sarcastic if there was any bite to it, but there’s not, so it mostly just sounds sad. “So I guess— I went to Patty.” 

“I went to Freddie.” 

“So we both—”

“Yeah,” Auston says. “We both did this.”

“We were… fed up,” Mitch says. “Scared, after that fight. We— we couldn’t see a solution moving forward.” 

“So we wanted to go backwards, but— that, uh. Didn’t last.” 

Mitch nods. “Probably for the best,” he says. “It felt— wrong.” 

“For sure,” Auston says. He knows there’s an obvious joke about literally changing species sitting right there, but humor seems foreign to him, right now. 

“So,” Mitch says. “Uh, where do we go from here?” 

Auston shrugs. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” 

“I— maybe,” Auston says. “I don’t know, not— like, not right now.” 

Mitch nods. “Okay.” 

“Sorry—”

“No, it’s fine, I get it,” Mitch says. “I— I’m really, really sorry.” 

“Me too,” Auston says. “I didn’t know— I would never wish you out of your life on purpose.” 

“So you wished me out of yours,” Mitch says. 

Auston shakes his head. “No, I just— I wanted things to stop hurting. I didn’t want you  _ gone.”  _

“Well, I guess the universe decided you couldn’t be happy with me around,” Mitch says, the sharpest he’s sounded in all the time Auston’s known him, and the worst part is, Auston knows he’s not even trying to be mean, he’s just hurt, more than he should ever be. 

And the thing is, he’s wrong, because Auston’s only ever been happy with Mitch around, but— 

“Let’s take some time to cool off,” Auston says. “I really am sorry.” 

“So am I,” Mitch says. “I wouldn’t do it again.”

Auston knows he shouldn’t ask, but he kind of has to. “What part?” 

There’s a beat of silence, and Auston thinks he might actually cry, just because this feels like the start of the slowest heartache he’s ever known, all the worst parts of falling in love coming to the surface as all the hope is siphoned out. 

“Any of it, I guess,” Mitch says. 

Auston feels like he might throw up, but he just swallows back tears, nods, and goes to take a shower.

…… 

They don’t talk about it. 

Of course they don’t. Auston doesn’t even know what there is to talk about— Mitch knows he broke Auston’s heart. After a few days, Auston realizes that this is it, for them. This is the part where Auston picks up pint after pint of ice cream and cries into all of them, or where he runs and skates and shoots pucks at the wall until his feet bleed and his house is a pile of dust, because as long as he’s hitting something—the street, the ice, the back of a net—he’s not thinking about Mitch.    

And he does those things. He mourns—he even thinks about crying—and he tries to take the space he needs to, but it’s hard. Willy starts staying in Zach’s room on the road, just so they don’t have to be in the same room all the time, and it’s a little easier, but every time they do the elaborate keycard swap, Auston’s eyes sting a little, because that’s reminder enough. Besides Mitch, Auston, Freddie, and Patty, the guys don’t remember anything that happened, but a fight is a fight, and honestly, Auston’s pretty sure anyone within a five foot radius could see that there’s a lot of heartbreak tangled up in this.  

It’s not like they don’t talk at all. They’re fine, as long as they’re in a group setting—practice, drinks with the guys—but they’re just trying to avoid the awkward one-on-one situations, where the easy conversation is gone, replaced by remnants of the best friendship Auston’s ever had. 

Really, considering how truly awful things are, Auston’s probably handling it fine, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t get frustrated, and after one particularly bad day, where he’d almost made Mitch smile during practice before his face turned sad again, he tracks down Freddie, because he wants some answers that he knows Freddie probably doesn’t have. 

Freddie seems to know what’s coming—he’s probably been expecting this since Auston woke up with no dog and all his memories—and he ducks his head, apologetic, like he’s ready to accept whatever anger Auston’s about to unleash on him. 

Which only really makes Auston angrier, but he figures anything Freddie does is gonna make him angry. He knows it’s not actually Freddie’s fault, but he is the one who turned Mitch into a dog, Auston’s pretty sure, so.   

“I asked for things to be fixed,” Auston says, not even bothering with hello. “Things aren’t fixed.”

“You said you wanted things to be  _ simple,”  _ Freddie corrects. “That’s a different thing.”

“Semantics,” Auston says, waving a hand. 

Freddie shakes his head. “It makes a difference.” 

“What did you do, anyway? Why did you send him away?” 

“I didn’t,” Freddie says. “He was here.” 

“He was a  _ dog.”  _

“He was  _ your _ dog,” Freddie says. “Man’s best friend.” 

“It’s not the same kind of best friend,” Auston says.

“I know,” Freddie says. “All I do is channel this stuff, okay? I’m not a genie. I don’t grant wishes.” 

“So who does?” 

Freddie shrugs. “I have no clue. Whoever messes with stuff in the universe.” 

“Helpful,” Auston says. 

“This kind of thing has never happened to me before, okay?” Freddie says. “I just felt— something. Like I could help, and I let something know that you wanted that.”

“What did you say I wanted?” Auston says. 

“It’s like I said before,” Freddie says. “What you told me. That you wanted things with you and Mitch to be easy again.” 

“Well, they stopped being easy when I realized that my dog wasn’t actually my dog,” Auston says. 

“I guess that’s why we came back here,” Freddie says. “Turns out that turning your best friend into a dog isn’t the best way to fix things after all.”

“So you think the universe fucked up?” 

Freddie shrugs. “I mean, yeah. Patty was telling me that he thinks some signals got crossed, with both you and Mitch making wishes.” 

“Oh,” Auston says. “I haven’t really talked to Patty about it.” 

“That makes sense,” Freddie says, and Auston thinks back to December, when he and Mitch had gone over for dinner, and Auston had watched fondly as Mitch played with the kids, an irresistibly easygoing smile on his face. 

It’s weird, thinking back on it, because Auston’s pretty sure it had hurt the whole time, but moments like that— all he remembers is joy. 

But really, with Mitch, joy and longing have always gone hand-in-hand, mixing together and filling up Auston’s heart. Some days, it had felt like he was drowning in it, and others, he’d felt like he was okay to drown. 

Nowadays, his heart is mostly just empty. 

“I feel like I’ve been missing him for months, now,” Auston says. “I just want him back.” 

“You’ll get there,” Freddie says. “There’s a reason that he found you, even when the universe got all messed up.” 

“What, you think it was a coincidence?” Auston says. 

“I don’t know how much I believe in coincidence, anymore,” Freddie says. “But I do know that the two of you are good together.” 

The words hurt, landing as heavily now as they had coming out of Mitch’s mouth that night after the win against Montreal. 

“Why is it taking me so long to get the fuck over this?” Auston says, putting his head in his hands. 

“I don’t know all the details,” Freddie says. “But sometimes it just takes time.” 

“I guess,” Auston says, deflating. “It just sucks in the meantime.” 

“Yeah, no real way around that,” Freddie says. 

Auston shrugs. “It is what it is.”   

…… 

After two weeks, it crawls back to something resembling normal. 

Mitch starts sleeping in their room again, and even though he wears headphones pretty much the entire time, it feels less like a conscious avoidance, more like Mitch needing some privacy. 

They play cards with Patty again, a few times ending up in the same game by accident, but eventually, they start seeking each other out as Euchre partners. They resume their Fortnite traditions, and Freddie still fucking sucks, but it’s fun to chirp him. 

And like, of course they have other friends. Marty’s playing less and less these days, and he and Mitch are close, so it makes sense that Mitch is spending a lot of time with him. Auston hangs out with Mo and Freddie, because the three of them are sharing the responsibility of leadership this season. There are callups, first goals to celebrate, losing streaks to power through, and a playoffs spot to try and solidify—

There are a lot of things happening in Auston’s life, is the point, so eventually, he stops feeling like a broken heart on ice skates, and starts feeling more like a person. 

…… 

When Mitch slams open the door to their hotel toward the end of March, it feels so much like his usual dramatics that it takes Auston a second to remember that things are weird, and have been all winter. 

“I can’t do this anymore,” he announces. 

Auston blinks. “What?” 

“This,” Mitch says, gesturing between the two of them. “The awkwardness. I’m just— I’ve decided that it’s pointless, so we’re going to deal with this, okay?” 

“We are dealing with it,” Auston says, too caught off-guard by the whole thing to do anything but go along with it.

Mitch shakes his head. “We need to talk about it.” 

Auston frowns. “It’s been weeks.” 

“I know—”

“Actually, no,” Auston says. “It’s been  _ months,  _ technically, and now you want to talk about it?” 

“It’s not like I didn’t before,” Mitch says. “I just— I didn’t know how, after.” 

“So you just decided to act like it never happened,” Auston says. “Real nice, Marns.” 

“Like you didn’t do the same thing,” Mitch says.

Auston’s not really sure if they’re on the same page, but for him, at least— this isn’t about a few weeks ago. This is about the time Mitch Marner shattered his heart into a million little pieces, all the way back in November, because there hasn’t been any new heartbreak since, only the same old wounds reopening.

It’s exhausting. Auston is tired of being in pain.

“Well, you started it.”

“I started it?” Mitch says, with this awful, incredulous laugh, and— yeah, this is about November for him, too. “Dude, you woke up in my bed the next morning and could barely look me in the eye.” 

“So what, I’m an awful person because I was nervous?” 

“I never said that,” Mitch says. “Look, I get it, you were scared things were gonna get weird, but it made me feel like crap, okay? You looked  _ relieved  _ when I told you things didn’t have to change.” 

“But it wasn’t a big deal to you,” Auston says. “You didn’t act like it mattered.” 

“Oh my god, are you fucking— of course it mattered, you were my best friend,” Mitch says. “Fuck, you  _ are  _ my best friend, okay? Everything that happens with us matters. But I just thought— I don’t know, that you didn’t want more, so I just went with that.” 

“So you were just happy to go back to the way things were before and pretend like it never happened.” 

“I was happy as long as you were happy,” Mitch says. “I was trying to do the right thing, and then you let yourself stay angry at me about it. For  _ months.  _ Like, put yourself in my shoes, okay? You put yourself through the wringer, trying to pretend like you slept with your best friend and you’re totally chill about it, and then out of  _ nowhere,  _ you find out he’s been resentful about it the whole time?” 

“Well, I’m sorry not all of us have a backup plan ready to go every time we’re not sure what to do next,” Auston says. 

“I’m not saying that,” Mitch says. “But you shut me out. You didn’t tell me what you were thinking at all, and it was like— I want us to be the kind of friends who can work through crap like this, and you just didn’t even trust me enough to talk to me about any of it.” 

“What, like you trust me any more than I trust you?” 

“Well, we’re talking now, aren’t we?” Mitch says. 

“Okay, but starting the conversation doesn’t mean you’re actually opening up,” Auston says. “It’s a cop-out.” 

“How the fuck—” 

“No, yeah, it’s a cop-out,” Auston says, and it strikes him, clear as anything, why this has made him so angry for so long. “You ask me what I want, but never offer up what you want. You act like this emotional support machine, but you’re really just as afraid as I am and deal with it by talking big game about ‘direct communication,’ or whatever.” 

“So you’re saying I trick people into telling me how they feel?” Mitch says. “You really think I’m that manipulative?” 

“I never said it was manipulative, but it’s— it’s a way to avoid talking about your feelings. Same as anyone else.” 

“Well— fine,” Mitch says, sitting down on the bed next to Auston. “Fine, maybe I do that. I never said I was perfect.” 

“Fair enough,” Auston says. 

There’s a beat of silence, and then Mitch says, “I try and make myself do that, sometimes.” 

“Do what?” 

“Share things,” Mitch says. “I’m just— I don’t like to do it until it’s absolutely necessary, but I’d rather talk about my crap than pretend things don’t matter. Again, we’re having this conversation. Because— I can’t keep not talking about it, I guess.”

“So what were you hoping would happen?” 

“I don’t know,” Mitch says. “I guess— I’m scared you don’t want to be my friend anymore, and that’s, like, always been the case, and that’s just me being paranoid. So it was like, maybe I just needed to hear that things weren’t weird because we’re… turning the page on that.” 

Auston feels a little sick at the thought. “Of course not,” he says. “I wouldn’t—” 

“I know,” Mitch says. “I just—” he takes a breath. “Okay, so, I’ve always had really close friends in my life, right? And sometimes I know that they’re just a close friend, but sometimes I wonder if it’s more than that, and it gets— just— it’s confusing. I don’t know what I want, and it feels like I should.” 

“It’s okay to not know what you want,” Auston says, weirdly calm, even though he’s pretty sure Mitch is about to break his heart again. He’s ready this time, he thinks. Maybe he’ll get some closure on the whole thing.

_ “I’m _ not okay with not knowing what I want,” Mitch says. “And I probably should get better at that, but— I think it’s also tricky, because sometimes I  _ do  _ know what I want, then tell myself I’m confused?” 

“Oh,” Auston says, not quite sure where Mitch is going with this.

“And that’s what happened, that morning,” Mitch says. “I knew what I wanted, and I didn’t tell you, and I didn’t want to lie, so I convinced myself I was confused, and I realized that after we had that fight. I was so pissed off, because I knew that— like, if I had just said what I wanted, we wouldn’t have argued at all. And I was so afraid that you just, like, actually hated me, and that we weren’t even friends anymore— and like, that was the worst part. The worrying that I lost my best friend.” 

“But you didn’t,” Auston says. “I’m still here.” 

“I know,” Mitch says. “But— that morning. I just asked if you were okay with the safe option, I guess, back to best friends like before, but, like— that wasn’t what I wanted.” 

“Okay,” Auston says. 

Mitch opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, then closes it and makes a frustrated noise. “I’m going to tell you what I did want.” 

“I figured.”

“Eventually,” Mitch says. “It’s just— it’s hard to say.” 

Auston feels his stomach do something at that, but he ignores it, because he’s not sure, and hope still feels dangerous. 

But he figures they’re putting shit out in the open, so he might as well. “You know what I wanted, so.” 

“I mean, you never actually told me,” Mitch says. 

“What?” 

“Like, you implied it, but you never— like, you didn’t directly say it,” Mitch says. “It’s okay, it’s hard to say.” 

“But— you know that I—” he cuts himself off, the words getting caught in his throat. 

“I think,” Mitch says, staring very intently at his clasped hands, “the problem is, it’s not only about that morning, y’know? Like, if I could change that part of the past, I would. But it’s not about the past, it’s about right now, and even if we wanted the same thing that morning, I know I still want it today, and would want it tomorrow, and the day after that, until— fuck, I don’t know. For however long these things last. I can’t see it stopping any time soon.” He winces. “I didn’t mean to say that last part out loud.” 

“Why?”

“It’s embarrassing,” he says. “This whole thing is embarrassing, really— not because it’s, like, you, but just because— feelings are embarrassing generally, y’know?”

“Feelings?” Auston says, the words drowned out in his ears by the sound of his heartbeat. 

“Feelings,” Mitch confirms. “Like— the feelings I have. For you. And you’re my best friend, but like—” he groans. “I feel like I’m 16 again, or something.”  

“You— feelings? Me?” Auston says, and like, he’s not the most eloquent guy, but that’s pretty bad even by his standards.

“Me feelings you, yes,” Mitch says, not a hint of irony in his voice. “It’s just that— that’s why I wanted a redo, y’know? So I could, like, bring it up then. When it was, uh, pretty relevant.” 

“So you—” Auston’s feeling a lot of things, but mostly shock, and this weird incredulity at the fact that things could’ve been great months ago, but weren’t, and it’s almost like anger, except it’s hard for Auston’s brain to be too angry over time wasted not being happy. “What do we do now?” 

“I don’t know,” Mitch says. ”It’s up to you, I guess?” 

“Well, I mean— like, same,” Auston says, and Mitch straightens up a little. “What, are you… surprised?” 

“Uh, logically? I guess not, but— yeah,” Mitch says, and then he turns to Auston, a small, awed smile playing on his lips. 

“That’s—” Auston starts, but he shakes his head, because that’s really not a relevant conversation right now. “Okay, whatever, we should, uh—” 

“Kiss each other?” Mitch says. 

“I was gonna say talk this over,” Auston says. “But I like the sounds of your idea better.” 

“Yours sounds smarter,” Mitch points out. 

“True,” Auston says. “But yours sounds more fun.” 

“Oh, for sure,” Mitch says, standing up to reposition himself on the bed, and Auston dutifully moves so that his head is on the pillow. “I mean, I’m assuming we’re on the same page, so, like— pretty much just being best friends, but with, like, monogamous strings-attached sex and romance?” 

“Yes,” Auston says, as Mitch climbs on top of him. “You’re my best friend with monogamous, strings-attached benefits.” He pretends to consider it, for a second. “I dunno, it’s kind of wordy.” 

“We can figure out a more compact label later,” Mitch says, leaning down, but Auston puts a finger up right next to Mitch’s lips, because he wants to be crystal clear about this. 

“How about boyfriends?” Auston says. 

Mitch smiles, warm and pleased, like every inch of his body is on board with that. “Yeah, alright,” he says. “Boyfriends it is.” 

“Good,” Auston says, smiling right back. 

“Okay,” Mitch says. “Alright, I’m doing it, I’m going in.” 

“Oh my god,” Auston says, laughing, but it’s cut off when Mitch puts his mouth on his, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. 

And Auston’s next thought is something he knows his stupid, because hindsight really is 20/20,  but honestly, he can’t help but wonder how they managed to make this difficult. 

That’s dumb, and he knows it, because feelings are hard, and feelings for your best friend are that much harder, and maybe the reason this feels so much easier than last time—the reason Auston feels so light he could probably fly, the reason every worry that came before this seems so far away—is because things were hard, and because they put in the effort. 

So now, Auston doesn’t need to think at all, so he doesn’t, just lies back and lets himself enjoy this, knowing that this is finally a happiness built to last.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (thanks for sticking with this story, y'all <3 all that's left is a short epilogue to tie things up, which i'll probably post tomorrow--thank you all so much!!!)


	4. Epilogue

Auston is walking down the street with two occupied hands—one clasped around his phone, the other tangled up in Mitch’s—so it shouldn’t come as a surprise when he nearly trips over a displaced patch of cement, especially considering that he walks on this sidewalk nearly every day and is well aware that it’s riddled with cracks. But, a stumble is a stumble, and he’s caught off-guard nonetheless.

It’s not a particularly dramatic moment; it doesn’t even earn him a comment from Mitch, just an amused snort, and Auston is only mildly embarrassed. These things happen, he figures.

It does get him to look up, though.

Auston actually knows a few of the dogs in his neighborhood. Mostly because of Mitch, who will give any extra food he has on hand to passing dogs—with permission from the owner—but Auston’s always been a dog person in his own right, too. The person walking the Husky across the street isn’t Auston’s neighbor, unless they moved here very recently, but the dog looks familiar, enough that Auston does a double take.

The dog is looking back at him, and any rumblings of recognition disappear when Auston meets its gaze. Its eyes are a very striking blue, but they’re not familiar; it’s just a dog, out for a walk along a slightly different route than usual, probably because it’s almost spring and the air is slightly less cool than it’s been, and that makes people feel a little more adventurous.

Still, he stops walking, and lets the moment linger.

After a beat, he feels Mitch squeeze his hand, the warmth of his grip starkly pleasant against the not-quite-warm air. “Babe?”

Auston shakes his head a little. “Sorry,” he says. “Got distracted for a second.”

“What by?” Mitch asked, a little concerned, but mostly good-natured. His eyes are also a striking blue, and right now, they’re carrying a well-worn curiosity.

Auston smiles, gives a small shrug. “It’s nothing,” he says. “Let’s just keep walking.”

Mitch gives him a brilliant grin in response.

Then, they continue their stroll, the moment with the dog long forgotten.

**Author's Note:**

> Updates happening every few days :) Hope you guys enjoy!
> 
> [Come talk to me on tumblr,](https://lottswrites.tumblr.com/) or follow me on twitter @lottslottslotts

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] Pulsing Stars in a Creased Night Sky](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16696612) by [Annapods](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annapods/pseuds/Annapods)




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